


The Cat Returns

by richmahogany



Category: Matthew Shardlake Series - C. J. Sansom
Genre: Cats, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22290286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richmahogany/pseuds/richmahogany
Summary: Master Shardlake adds an old cat to his collection of waifs and strays.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	The Cat Returns

**Author's Note:**

> Set around Christmas 1545.

The end of November had brought a prolonged period of cold, wet, blustery weather. It never seemed to get light anymore, even on midday everything was suffused with a grey dullness. My mood these days was correspondingly dark and melancholy. The legal business was slowing down as Christmas approached, and I didn’t see much of Barak except when he had work to do at my chambers. He spent as much time as he could with his newly increased family, and I was happy for him, but it left me missing his company, and sometimes I even felt lonely.  


I had hired a new steward in November, by the name of Whitacre. He was a man of about my age, who had been steward to a fellow lawyer at the Temple, whom I hadn’t known. After the death of his master, Whitacre had looked for a similar position, and on hearing that I was looking for a steward had applied to me. I had been impressed with his good manners and civil bearing, and indeed his skill in running a household had made itself felt immediately. However, it had dawned on me very quickly that I had made yet another mistake. Whitacre’s good manners soon revealed themselves as rather oily and obsequeous and they were only a thin veneer for the disdain that lurked underneath. There was no open hostility between any of my servants, but Josephine was very shy of him, and so was Timothy. It also became clear very soon that I was not the kind of employer he had hoped for. As a Serjeant, I had risen far in my profession and commanded a respectable position in society, but much of my business was still at the Court of Requests. Whitacre never said anything – his station forbade it – but he managed to convey that instead of acting for poor tenants, he had hoped that his master would deal with a better sort of client. This was a kind of snobbery I often encountered, but I paid it no heed, as the work suited me and my particular talents. To encounter the same snobbery in your own household, though, was uncomfortable to say the least. Nevertheless, I could not fault Whitacre’s work, and I could see no other way than to endure the situation for some time at least.  


To make things worse I suffered another bout of the fever that had felled me a few years ago. I do not remember much of the week I spent ill in bed, except that I wished for Guy to come, but he never did. Perhaps I wasn’t able to convey my wish to the steward or to Josephine, who looked after me. All else I remember were the usual nightmares of drowning, which I experienced more intensely because of the fever. In any case, this time I was recovered within seven days, and now I felt strong enough to leave my bedchamber. I was still rather weak, but I managed to dress myself and make my way down the stairs and outside. The weather had turned for the better. Today was the first sunny day in at least two weeks, but it was very cold. In the garden everything was white with frost, which the sun hadn’t been able to melt. I cautiously made my way over to the stable, taking care not to fall on the slippery stones.  


Genesis wickered gently as I entered, and I went over to feed him a piece of apple and stroke his nose. I was fortunate to be the owner of such a congenial horse, which was almost like a friend to me. I had often wondered if Lord Cromwell, when he gave me Genesis, had deliberately chosen an animal whose character he knew would suit me. Knowing him, it would not be surprising if he had. Cromwell had had a good hand with horses. I remember one particular incident which happened many years ago when I first knew him. A group of reformist lawyers, of which we were both a member, had met at some tavern. Just as the meeting broke up, there was a commotion in the street outside. A horse had been spooked by something and was running up and down, lashing out with its hooves. It was a large animal, and everyone cowered in fear of being kicked. Cromwell however was completely fearless, went straight up to the horse, caught it by its bridle and within a few minutes had calmed it down and returned it to its owner. Such an ability was unexpected in a lawyer, but it was common knowledge that Lord Cromwell was the son of a blacksmith. As a child he probably had encountered spooked horses often enough to learn how to deal with them. I would almost expect him to have known the character of every one of his horses, and as he knew mine too, he had chosen Genesis as a deliberate match.  


I listened as Genesis scrunched his piece of apple, then patted his neck and went outside again to take a turn round the garden. As I stepped along the wall, contemplating one of the fruit trees which had produced a disappointing harvest in autumn, my foot struck something soft. It looked like a fur cap that someone had thrown over the wall. I bent down to pick it up and almost jumped back when the ‘cap’ suddenly opened its eyes. It was a cat – a large black cat, thin and dirty-looking, with eyes of a startling golden colour. What was a cat doing in my garden? I bent closer again and stretched out a hand to touch the animal. It did not move away. I now noticed that it had a bloody wound on one of its legs. Likely it had been injured on the streets and had found refuge in my garden but was now close to death from cold and hunger.  


I sighed. I knew I couldn’t leave the cat there. I didn’t particularly want a cat in the house, but I had no choice but to pick it up and carry it inside. In the parlour I put it down in front of the fire and called for Josephine to bring me a bowl of water and a rag. Her eyes widened when she saw the cat.  


“The poor thing,” she said. “Let me clean him up, sir.”  


“Thank you,” I said. I hadn’t noticed it before, but Josephine was right, the cat was a male. I watched as she gently wiped the dirt away. The cat had closed his eyes again and submitted to her ministrations.  


“He’s hurt his leg, look, sir,” she said.  


“I know. I don’t know what to do about it. It doesn’t look too bad, but he seems to be quite weak.”  


It was medical advice I needed here, so eventually I resolved to write a note for Guy, asking him to come and see me as soon as he could arrange it, and sent Timothy to his house with it. He brought no note in return but a message that Guy would come later today.  


I fetched my papers from my study and sat in the parlour with them, so I could keep an eye on the cat, which seemed to have fallen asleep. I had to prepare myself for my return to work tomorrow. There were only a few days until the end of the law term, but I had to catch up with the work that had been postponed during my illness. I was only dealing with a few routine cases at the moment, the usual suits from tenants against their landlords who wanted to turn their land over to sheep pasture. One of the cases worried me, as I thought I might well lose it. The landlord had a fairly good claim on the land in question, legally at least, and I would have to find a very convincing precedent to strengthen my client’s counter claim. The case would not come before the judges until the new term, though, which gave me some time for research.  


I worked steadily, occasionally glancing at the cat, until I heard someone at the door. I hoped it was Guy, and waited for my steward to show him in. Instead however, I heard his raised voice trying to get rid of the unknown visitor. He became louder and louder, so eventually I got up to see what the matter was. I found Guy standing at the open door, his hands raised in a placating gesture, while my steward was haranguing him in ever more strident tones. I spotted Timothy cowering behind the kitchen door, and Josephine was nowhere to be seen. I had to raise my own voice to be heard above the din. “Whitacre! What is this? Why are you not showing my visitor in?”  


Whitacre turned to me. “Sir, this blackamoor came last week, claiming to be a friend of yours and wanting to be let in. Now he has come back to try again, and I was trying to tell him that we don’t want his kind round here.”  


It was hard to restrain my fury when I spoke: “Dr Malton is a physician and attends me in his professional capacity. He is also a personal friend. You will let him in anytime he comes to this house, do you understand?”  


Whitacre managed to arrange his face in a stony expression and replied: “Yes, sir.”  


I thought, I will have to deal with Whitacre somehow. I did not want to let yet another steward go, but his presence in my house created an increasingly poisonous atmosphere. For now I let Guy precede me into the parlour and closed the door. Before I could apologize to him he had clasped my shoulders and looked into my face. “Matthew! How is your health? I know you have been ill, so I am happy to see you out of bed, but you still look very pale.”  


“Yes, I was ill with a fever for a few days, but I am quite recovered, thank you. But why did Whitacre say that you came here last week? I know nothing of this.”  


“Timothy came to me with a message that you were ill, but when I came to see you, your steward wouldn’t let me in. He didn’t believe me when I said that you had asked for me, and of course there was no written note. I could hardly force my way inside, so I had to go away again. But I was worried about you. How are you feeling?”  


I set my lips. So I had managed to convey a message to Guy, only for him to be turned back by my steward and probably be insulted for his troubles. It was clear that I would have to deal with Whitacre sooner than later. “I am sorry,” I said, “I tried to send you a message but I couldn’t remember if I had succeeded, so when you didn’t come, I thought I had been too ill to make myself clear to Timothy or Josephine. But I wanted to consult you on another matter.”  


I pointed to the cat lying in front of the fire. Guy’s eyebrows shot up as he saw it, and then he turned to me with an expression that was half amusement, half exasperation. I could guess what he was thinking, so before he could say anything, I told him: “I found the cat in my garden. Was I supposed to throw him back over the wall?”  


Guy sighed. “No, I suppose not.” He knelt down beside the animal and started to examine it, gently pressing his long fingers over its whole body and parting the fur to look at the wound on its leg. The cat opened its eyes but lay still. Guy looked up at me again. “He is old, but he is strong. The cut on his leg is not too deep, it has already started to heal by itself. I think he has not been able to find any food for a few days, and the cold did the rest.”  


He stood up with a speed and suppleness that I had never been able to manage. “The remedy is simple: warmth and food. Water as well, he is probably quite parched. If you can give him that, he should recover fairly quickly. If not – well, he is very old. What are you going to do with him?”  


“I confess I hadn’t thought about that yet. I just knew I couldn’t leave him to die. I never thought of getting a cat, but – well, it’s not that I don’t have any mice.”  


Indeed, while my house wasn’t infested with them, I could occasionally hear them rustling at night. Josephine had complained more than once about the presence of mice in the kitchen, and I knew that a number of them lived in the stable as well. I said: “I’m sure I can find something to keep him warm, but what should I feed him? What do cats eat when they’re not catching mice?”  


“Well, since they are usually catching mice, I would think that scraps of meat would be a good substitute. I have heard that they will eat fish as well. I doubt you could tempt him with salad.”  


He smiled at that, and I had to smile as well. I was not fond of salad either, for all that people kept telling me I should eat more of it.  


“Thank you for coming. I know you don’t usually take cats as patients, but I was at a loss as to what to do, and you were the only person I could think of to ask for advice. Are you staying to have lunch with me?”  


Guy however replied that he had another appointment and left, but told me that if I sent Timothy to his house later, he would give me some lavender oil to put on the cat’s wound. Once again I felt gratitude for having Guy as my friend. It was a great comfort to know that I could always turn to him in any situation. I could only hope that I was as good a friend in return.  


When I returned to the fire, the cat was looking at me, but didn’t move. I had to find something I could make into a bed for him, but what? I went into the kitchen and found a shallow basket, which was sometimes used to carry firewood inside. This I lined with straw from the stables, and added a couple of cloths. Once I had lifted the cat into it, he looked comfortable enough.  


Then I remembered what Guy had said about water. I fetched a small bowl and set it down in front of the cat, but he didn’t make any move to drink from it. I held it right under his nose, but he was probably too weak to help himself. I went back to the kitchen to fetch a spoon, and so, kneeling beside the basket, I scooped up some of the water and tried to trickle it into the cat’s mouth. To my relief he swallowed it, and I repeated the exercise with several spoonfuls. It took some time until I judged that he had had enough, and my knees were stiff from resting on the cold flags when I got up again.  


Throughout the day I gave the cat water to drink several times, until he started to look livelier, and I tried him with tiny scraps of chicken. To my delight he swallowed those as well. I thought, if he continues to eat and stay warm, he might well recover. Timothy had brought the oil from Guy, and I rubbed some into the deep scratch on his leg. It filled my parlour with the scent of lavender. I still hadn’t decided what I was going to do with a healthy but old cat, but that was a thought for later. Overnight I left the cat tucked up in his basket in front of the fireplace.  


When I came into the parlour the next morning, the cat lifted up its head to greet me. I was pleased to see it doing so well. While I was eating my breakfast, I was contemplating whether to entrust the care of the cat to Timothy. He did so well with the horses, perhaps he would take to the cat as well.  


I had sent Barak a message to come to my house first instead of going to my chambers. When he saw the cat, he smiled and bent down to give it a pat. The cat took a weak but well aimed swipe at his hand and hissed. Barak jumped back with a curse. “Jesu! Where did you find him?” and then he added with a scowl: “That cat always hated me.”  


“Do you know this cat?” I asked in astonishment.  


“That’s Marlinspike – used to be Lord Cromwell’s cat when he lived at the Rolls House. I remember he brought him up from a kitten. He had the run of the house, until he disappeared one day. I thought I’d spotted him on the streets now and then, but not for years – didn’t know he was still alive. Anyway, I never got on with him.” He glared at the cat, who glared back at him, tail twitching.  


“Are you sure it’s the same cat?”  


“Have you ever seen a cat with golden eyes like that? Believe me, it’s him.”  


“You’ll have to arrange yourself with him somehow, he’s staying here for now.”  


“But how did he come here? I’d never taken you for a friend of cats.”  


“I found him in my garden, by the wall. He was injured and starving, so what else could I do but take him in?”  


Barak sighed with the same expression of exasperation on his face as Guy had shown yesterday. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll keep my distance though.”  


I thought, why are they all so impatient about my giving shelter to an old cat? But I didn’t have time to think much about it. I was determined to get some work done before the end of the term. I sent Barak out to take a deposition for one of my ongoing cases. Myself I went to the library at Lincoln’s Inn to search the old casebooks for a helpful precedent which might strengthen my client’s claim against his landlord. After a few hours I had made some notes, but I hadn’t found anything particularly promising. I would have to think about whether it was worth making another search, or whether it was better to devise a different tactic altogether, although at the moment I couldn’t see what that might be. I went back to my house to eat lunch and to see how the cat was doing.  


Marlinspike, if that was indeed his name, was still lying in his basket. He was so far recovered now that he was able to drink water from a saucer which Josephine had placed in front of him. I offered him a few scraps of my lunch, which he took from my fingers and ate. I stroked his back. Now that he was clean and dry, his fur felt pleasantly warm and soft. I wondered why he had taken against Barak so much, although I could well imagine a youthful Barak taking his teasing of the cat too far.  


I went back to my chambers in the afternoon and continued to work. I did not have to appear in court until the next term, so I was mostly busy with preparation for the cases which would resume after Christmas and the new year. The next few days passed in a similar manner. I made an effort to get all of my cases in order, and in between I looked after Marlinspike. When I was at my chambers, I left instructions with my steward to ensure that Marlinspike was watered regularly, and to keep the fire going for warmth. I sent a message to Guy to tell him that his lavender oil had had the desired effect and that the cat’s leg wound had almost healed. The cat was soon able to pick up his own food if it was placed before him, and on the day before Christmas he rose to his feet as I approached the basket, rubbed his head against my leg and purred. I was unaccountably pleased, not just because his health had improved, but because of his display of affection. I thought, strange how we crave the approval of our animals. It was the same pleasure I felt when Genesis greeted me as I entered the stables, or when I had thought that Oddleg, the horse I had ridden that summer, seemed to like me. I felt a fleeting stab of sadness as I remembered Chancery, my old horse who had been my companion for so many years. I bent down to run my hand over Marlinspike’s back. It was a very pleasant feeling.  


Christmas Day was an enjoyable one this year. The festival had not meant much to me since my childhood, but now both Timothy and Josephine took pleasure in decorating the house with holly and ivy, and I had no intention of spoiling their fun. Barak, I knew, had cherished memories of Christmas in Lord Cromwell’s household, where the holidays had been marked with feasting, music and singing, children dressing up in suitable costumes, splendid decorations all over the house and a festive atmosphere. I had been invited to spend Christmas in the Cromwell household once or twice, but it had not made the same impression on me as on Barak. While I recognised the importance of the holidays in the calendar, they had long ceased to be special for me. This year, though, I was invited to dinner to the house of a fellow lawyer of Lincoln’s Inn, a man whom I could not call a friend but who had been a very agreeable partner when we worked together on a case. His wife was a friendly, warmhearted woman, and the other guests were equally pleasant, so that I spent a more enjoyable Christmas dinner than I had in years.  


When I returned that evening, the house was dark and empty. I had given my servants the afternoon off, and while I suspected that Timothy was still in the stables, the others had gone out. I stepped into the parlour, where the fire had been allowed to go out. I frowned. Someone should have taken more care to preserve the glowing embers, not least to keep Marlinspike warm. As I approached the fireplace, I saw that the basket was empty. I wasn’t immediately worried as I knew that Marlinspike was now able to get up and walk about, but he was still too weak to get far. I took a candlestick and went to look for him. He wasn’t in any of the rooms downstairs or upstairs, or in the kitchen. I even stepped outside and had a good look around, but he was nowhere to be seen. Where could he be? He was in no condition to go very far. I only hoped that he hadn’t gone outside and hidden somewhere where I couldn’t see him. There was nothing I could do, however, so I returned to the house and went to bed.  


When I came downstairs next morning, there was no sign of the cat still. I questioned my steward, but he only said: “He must have slipped out the door when I opened it and run away.” I found that hard to believe, but I had no other explanation either. I thought of the cat now and then while I worked. I caught myself hoping that he would come back to me.  


It was already dark outside when I heard Timothy open the door to go to the stables. Immediately I heard him shout: “Master, come quick, Marlinspike has come back!” And indeed, the cat was curled up hard by the door, looking exhausted and dirty again. Had he tried to come in? He was probably too weak to make himself heard through the door. I picked him up, carried him back to his basket and gave him food and water. After I had brushed the dirt out of his fur, he looked much better again. He curled up in his basket and fell asleep.  


The next day Marlinspike was recovered enough to get up and walk around the house. I saw him poke his nose into every corner. Occasionally he came to me to rub himself against my legs. I thought, I could get used to having him around. When Barak came to visit me in the afternoon, Marlinspike hid somewhere, no doubt to Barak’s relief. “You haven’t got rid of him then?” he asked.  


“No, certainly not. Why would I?”  


“Well, I will have to think twice about visiting you when he’s around.”  


“Surely you won’t be frightened off by a harmless cat.”  


“No. I might be frightened off by your steward, though. He always looks at me like I’m going to tread dirt over the fresh rushes.”  


“That’s perhaps because you do?”  


Barak scowled, and I left off teasing him. When I had put on my coat and boots, we went to seek out an inn and spent an afternoon talking over a few beers. Barak was always good company, and to me he was more than an assistant, he was also a friend. We didn’t talk of work, but of everyday matters, and our hopes for the new year. I did not mention the situation with my steward although it weighed on my mind. I realised that I no longer wanted him in the house, but unless he did anything wrong or proved himself disobedient in some way, I could not send him away.  


When I returned to my house, Marlinspike was not in the parlour. Since he could now move all over the house, I looked for him in the other rooms, but didn’t find him. Whitacre denied having seen him either. I had already noticed that the cat avoided him, so that did not surprise me. Timothy also said he hadn’t seen him, but there was an anxious expression on his face when he told me, and he avoided my gaze. I thought, he knows something he dare not tell me. But I was sure that he wasn’t telling outright lies, and I was in no mood to question him sharply. I settled down in my parlour, but couldn’t help worrying about the cat.  


I woke in the middle of the night, thinking I had heard a cat cry under the window. I listened, but everything was quiet. I shivered as I crept out from under the quilt, went to the window and looked out. The moon cast a silvery light over the garden, but I didn’t see anything resembling a cat. I closed the window and went back to bed.  


Next morning the stormy weather had returned. Rain was lashing the windows, and the panes rattled in the gale. I dressed and went down to the parlour, where Whitacre served my breakfast. Marlinspike’s basket was still empty. Perhaps he had simply left to resume his life on the streets. Well, so much the better. It would free me from the duty of feeding and caring for a cat I had not wanted in the first place. But then I caught myself thinking, if he was really gone, I would miss him.  


After breakfast I went up to my study. Fortunately I had no reason to go out in this weather, and I hoped to advance the work I had to do on the cases which would resume in the new term. After a while I noticed that I must have left a particular set of papers in the parlour. I went downstairs to find them, but was startled by the noises which seemed to come from my front door. It was the unmistakeable hiss and growl of a cat, and the voice of my steward, talking in a low, agitated manner. I immediately went to see what was the matter. The door was half open, and there was Marlinspike, trying to push his way in. Whitacre on the other hand kicked him back with his leg, blocking the way and scolding in a harsh voice. At once I realised why Marlinspike kept disappearing. I was now certain that Whitacre had thrown him out before, and then lied to me about it. All the anger I had felt about Whitacre boiled over at the sight of him mistreating my cat.  


“Whitacre!” I shouted. “Let the cat in. Now!”  


Whitacre turned round, and Marlinspike shot past him and disappeared into the parlour.  


“Is this how you do your duty? Keeping everyone away from my door? I gave you no instructions to do so, as you know very well.”  


Whitacre had turned pale at first, but now his face reddened as his own anger rose. “I have been trying to keep this house respectable, as would have befitted your and my station. But I should have known from the start that my efforts would be in vain. A dirty cat has no place in a gentleman’s parlour. I can see that even if you can’t. But no, you must open the door to every beggar who knocks upon it, you righteous prig. Mangy cats! Blackamoors coming to the house day and night! A half-witted orphan and a hussy for servants! And for a master, a hunchback who picks his clients from the gutter!”  


Strangely, instead of inflaming my anger even more, Whitacre’s tirade had the effect of calming my thoughts and making me master of the situation.  


“In that case,” I said quietly, “you will not be disappointed when I tell you to leave my house immediately. I will give you till tonight to pack your things, and I will make sure that you receive your pay up to this day. But I want you gone tonight.” And with that I left him standing there and closed the parlour door behind me.  


On the eve of the New Year the weather turned frosty again. I had taken a walk during the day, enjoying the sunshine, even though the sun did not rise very high these days. I had called at Barak and Tamasin’s house with my New Year gifts. As always, Barak glowed with pride when he could present his son to me, and Tamasin had smiled and tried to seat the baby on my lap. The boy had cried and reached for his mother, though, so she took him back into her arms, from where he looked at me suspiciously. Barak laughed. “You’ll be friends in time, I’m sure.” I nodded, in no way offended by the baby’s rejection. It was good to see Barak so happy, surrounded by his family, in his cosy and well-kept little house. It was something I used to long for myself, but which had been denied to me. But at least my own household had become a good deal happier with Whitacre’s departure, and it had once again become a place I was happy to return to whenever I had been away.  


It seemed to me especially so on this New Year’s eve. The fire in the parlour was burning brightly, filling the room with warmth. I sat in my most comfortable chair next to it, enjoying a cup of wine, which I did rarely, but I had thought it fitting for an evening like this. I put my hand up and let Marlinspike’s tail run through it. He swished the tip past my nose, which made me laugh. At first I had resented the insolent way in which Marlinspike draped himself over my bent back whenever I sat in this chair. But I had to admit that I appreciated the warmth, and the vibrating sensation when he purred, which he did enthusiastically and at length. I thought, if he wasn’t there, I would be alone. A feeling came over me which at first I could not identify. I did not feel like this very often, so it took me a while to put a name to the sensation, but then I realised: I was utterly content. Sitting here in my warm parlour, in my comfortable house, with the cat for company, I had much to be grateful for. My business was going well. None of my cases were the kind to put the lives of those close to me or my own in danger. They only presented the sort of intellectual challenge I relished. Besides, there was no work to be done on them tonight. The atmosphere in my household had improved after the departure of my steward. I would have to get a new steward, but that could wait. For a while I could manage very well with only Josephine and Timothy. I had not forgotten that I wanted to find an apprenticeship for Timothy, despite his resistance. But like the other business, this could wait a while. For now, for this one night between the years, I could let time stand still. It was just me and Marlinspike, the fire in the grate and the cup in my hand. Tonight I would let all my cares slide away and be truly happy.

**Author's Note:**

> The cat is of course borrowed from Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall.


End file.
